Border Guardian
by Newfan
Summary: A vignette about Jack's trip across the border, after Season 4.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations of 24…I only wish I did.

Border Guardian

The black Honda Civic sedan with Washington plates pulled off I5 just north of Bellingham and turned east to the Citgo station, passing a man walking along the frontage road. The driver swung into an open pump and stopped. Stepping out, she bent over and pushed the gas tank door release, idly noting that the pedestrian was headed in her direction.

She swiped her credit card and filled her tank, topping it off twice to make sure she wouldn't have to buy gas in British Columbia…not that it was that much cheaper in the U.S. nowadays. Replacing the cap and then reaching for her receipt, she grimaced at the scrolling message on the display that informed her that the cashier inside had it. Oh, well…she could use a bathroom break anyway. She locked the car and strode into the convenience store, heading straight for the restrooms at the back. On her way, she passed the man who had been walking, his brown canvas messenger bag slung over one shoulder, as he left the men's room. His eyes scanned the store, taking in both her and the rest of the customers as he headed back out the door. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she often had that reaction, having taught as many students over the years as she had. After a while, lots of people started to look like former students.

The stubbled face, lined and drawn with lack of sleep, stuck with her as she washed her hands and went to retrieve her receipt from the cashier. On the way out, she paused with her hand on the exit door, peering through the glass and chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, and then headed over to the food aisles to buy some bottled water and snacks.

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Starting the car, she pulled away from the pump, looking around in all directions. She finally spotted him across the road, angling toward the on-ramp back to the interstate which headed straight to the US/Canadian border only about 20 miles north. She bided her time leaving the Citgo station, waiting until he committed to the ramp, trudging tiredly but determinedly up the incline. Two cars ahead of her stopped at a yellow light, giving her a minute to scrutinize his departing back before she turned right and accelerated slowly past him.

About halfway up, she pulled over, hit the button for the passenger window, and watched him approach in the wing mirror. His aviator sunglasses obscured his eyes, but she could tell from his slowing steps and the way he removed his hands from his jacket pockets that he was wary of the car parked in front of him.

He was intent on walking past when she leaned across the seat and called, "Hey, do you need a ride somewhere?"

The man stopped and glanced around quickly before retracing the few steps to her car. She removed her sunglasses in order to see him better as he leaned down to look at her, sizing her up. She noticed that he didn't feel compelled to take off his shades, which were dark enough to mask his gaze.

Taking in her dark blue pants suit and the coat and laptop case on the back seat, he seemed to find her 40 year-old person no threat, because he asked wryly, "Haven't you ever heard you're not supposed to pick up hitchhikers?"

She grinned sardonically. "No, I can't say I've ever heard that before, but I'm sure it's very good advice. So, do you need a ride or not?"

He straightened up for a moment to check his surroundings again before ducking back down to the window. "That depends. Where are you headed?"

"I'm going up to Vancouver for a few days. Do you need to go that far?"

His face was remote as he considered her words. "Canada…. Yeah, I guess I do." The words dragged out of him reluctantly.

She reached over and grabbed the small stack of file folders on the passenger seat and set them in the back next to the laptop. "OK, hop in," she directed him. She waited while he opened the door and swung his bag onto the floor before lowering himself into the seat and shutting the door. She was still looking at him, waiting, when he glanced at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Your seat belt…do you mind?" He nodded expressionlessly and buckled in as she signaled and hit the gas to merge onto the interstate.

Once they were moving, he said softly, "Thanks for the lift. I was getting a little tired of walking."

She took her eyes off the road to glance at him as he stared out the window at the unremarkable northern Washington scenery. His clothes were travel-worn, and she was sure he'd slept in them at least once. She sensed he wasn't in the mood for small talk, so she held her tongue and concentrated on driving.

Finally, he broke the silence: "What's in Vancouver? Business?"

"Sort of. I'm presenting at a conference on international education." She added in an ultra-serious tone, "It's fascinating and important stuff."

The corner of his mouth lifted a little. "I'm sure it is. Too bad I'm going to miss it." He paused, obviously digging for something to add. "Where are you from?"

She concentrated on the road spooling toward her while she considered her words carefully before responding, "I'm from lots of places. Originally, Wisconsin. Then I was in L.A. until a year ago, and now I'm living in Lynnwood, which is just north of Seattle. I teach at the University of Washington in the College of Education, so it's pretty close to campus." She shut up abruptly, aware that she was adding needless details out of sheer nervousness. Her good manners prompted her to add, "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Well, Sam, thanks for saving me some travel time. I'm John."

Another awkward silence fell that lasted for a couple of miles. He shifted a little in his seat, as if to get more comfortable, but she noticed that his movement had left him able to look more directly at her, without having to turn his head too obviously. She let him stare for a bit before she asked, "Something wrong with my driving?"

He flushed a little at being caught but responded, "No, I was just wondering what kind of a person picks up hitchhikers nowadays. You have to admit, it's not typical."

Keeping her eyes on the car ahead of her, she said slowly, "I guess…I thought you looked like you needed a hand right now." She glanced at him briefly. "Was I mistaken?"

He looked away and said nothing.

She added, "After working with future teachers for eleven years, I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character. You don't look like the rape 'n rob type to me."

He stared blindly out the window. "No," he said in his low, rough voice, "I'm not that."

"Then I don't have anything to worry about, do I?"

A rapidly approaching sign warned her that the border was only 10 miles away, so she kept a watch out for the next exit. When she signaled and moved right, he stiffened and glanced at her warily. "Why are we pulling off?"

"If you don't mind, I need to find an ATM and get some cash before we cross. It's a pain trying to exchange a check; cash is much easier."

He nodded and relaxed again as she headed for a credit union a short way off the interstate. Turning in and parking in front of the cash machine, she left the car running as she got out and made a withdrawal. When she returned to the car, she opened the back door on her side and put the money away while her passenger scanned the parking lot out his window.

Sliding back into her seat, she felt his eyes on her and paused in putting on her seatbelt. "What?" she demanded.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Sam, either you're an amazing judge of character, or you're way too trusting. You left me every chance to drive off, with or without you and your money. Do you know how incredibly dangerous that is?"

She looked away and used the rear-view mirror as she backed out of the parking spot. "Like I said, I'm not often wrong about people," she reminded him. Suddenly she hit the brakes. "Oops, I forgot." Reaching behind her head, she undid the chain around her neck and let one end of it drop into her lap. The ring that had been hidden under her blouse slid off, and she fitted it onto her left ring finger. Clasping the chain once more, she shot him a sly sideways glance. "There, that's better."

Once they were back on the highway and headed for the border, she asked, "Where did you want to get out? I'm going all the way to Vancouver, but I can drop you anywhere you need to go."

"I'll just cross the border with you, if that's OK."

"Sure." She reached down and opened the center console between them to dig out her passport, which she stuck in a compartment under the stereo. "I hope you have your passport." She added ironically, "Things being the way they have recently, I'm sure they've increased security quite a bit."

Amazingly, the wait to cross was shorter than the last time she'd come this way. Must be that people are sticking close to home, she reasoned to herself. I know that feeling. As the line drew closer to the row of booths, she considered her choices and picked the one to her right, even though there were two cars ahead of her, while only one waited to her left. Her passenger glanced at her in surprise, but she ignored his unspoken question.

In an attempt to expedite things, she took off her sunglasses so the uniformed woman stepping toward them out of the border booth could see her eyes clearly, and beside her, she could sense John doing the same. Before the border agent reached the car, Sam reached out and grabbed John's hand, which was resting on his leg. She pulled his hand over so their entwined fingers were clearly visible between the seats and gave him a warning squeeze when he tried to extract himself. He desisted and instead stared at her tensely.

"Good evening, folks. Are you entering Canada for business or pleasure?" asked the border agent as she bent down and scanned the car's occupants and interior.

Sam laughed. "Both, really. I have a conference in Vancouver, but we're also…" --she held up her left hand at the guard—"…eloping on our honeymoon. Don't let my parents know! They were hoping for a real ceremony, but I figured one major wedding in a lifetime was enough." She felt John stiffen, and his hand clamped down on hers. She shot him a loving look and audaciously raised his hand to her lips to kiss the back of it.

The border agent smiled. "Congratulations! May I see your passports, please?"

Sam reached for hers and then passed along her passenger's document, which the woman checked against their faces and then took into the booth to verify.

Beside her, her "husband" hissed in a low voice, "Damnit, what are you doing!? This is serious!" She gave him her best innocent look and said cheerfully, "Don't worry, it won't be official."

He answered her with a stressed face and a muttered, "Shit!"

When the agent returned, Sam retrieved her hand from John and passed his passport back to him ceremoniously. They dutifully answered the obligatory questions about weapons and drugs and other illegal items and then the gate rose before them and they were waved through. The Canadian agent down the road briefly checked and questioned them, finally wishing them a pleasant stay in British Columbia.

Then they were through.

They drove in silence, continuing up 99 toward Vancouver. They were passing signs welcoming them to Canada and announcing the exit to White Rock when he finally spoke. "You can drop me there." He paused. "I don't understand what you did back there."

She shrugged. "It occurred to me that it might be a good idea. Besides, I've always wanted to try something like that," she added wickedly. His only response was to huff in exasperation and roll his eyes.

Taking the first White Rock exit, she detoured into a gas station and parked around the side, away from the majority of the customers. She shut off the engine and turned to search his startlingly blue eyes, which he had forgotten to hide behind his sunglasses again. He stared back for a few moments and then bent down to grab his bag from the floor by his feet. Opening the door, he stepped out, slung the strap over his shoulder, and then shut the door firmly. He bent down to look over at her, resting his arms on the window. "Thanks again. You'll never know how much this helped."

"It was no trouble, you know that. And thank you for giving me a husband again, even if it was only for a few minutes," she said solemnly, creating an awkward pause which she spoiled by smiling broadly at him. She looked at her ring and added regretfully, "Now I suppose I'll have to take this off again."

He stuck out his hand toward her. She shook it firmly. "Good luck, wherever you end up."

He scanned her face wordlessly and then stood up and turned away. A minute later, as he headed up the street, he heard her car start and approach him, so he slowed and turned toward her.

She held a paper bag out the window at him. "I forgot…I have something for you. Call it a going away present…Mr. Bauer."

He took the bag with nerveless fingers as she continued, "I told you, I used to live in L.A. I've known about you since that time you interfered with the assassination attempt on President Palmer." She gave him a crooked smile. "It was kind of a joke with my husband, because he looked quite a bit like you…people even used to remark on it." She was lost in her thoughts for a moment and then finished, "I still read the _Times_ online. It's nice to see that your obituary got a few things wrong."

Reaching out, she squeezed his arm, then pulled her hand back inside the car. "I haven't forgotten what you've done for all of us. Consider it a thank you for your service." She smiled at him again, a little sadly, and then slowly pulled away, disappearing up the ramp a few blocks away.

He stood there for another minute, aware that he was too exposed but too bemused to move from the spot where she'd left him. The weight of the sack in his hand brought him back to reality, so he opened it and peered down at the contents. Four bottles of water, quite a lot of jerky, a half dozen energy bars…. He frowned and dug deeper in the bag, eventually pulling out a wad of bills, which he gaped at in shock. He quickly counted it: six hundred dollars. He lifted his head and gazed in the direction she'd gone. Finally, he turned to walk away, stuffing the paper bag into his satchel as he went.

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A month later, Sam walked into her office, juggling her books, mail, and keys and ultimately dropping all of them. She bent down to gather up the envelopes and touched a colorful post card that stuck out from the usual academic mail. The front showed a scenic but rather nondescript view of golden wheat fields with snowcapped peaks looming over them. She frowned and flipped it over. A Canadian stamp and Saskatchewan post mark froze her, and her eyes darted to the spiky handwriting on the left: "Thanks again for the help. It meant a lot." The signature at the bottom made her laugh with delight: "Your loving husband."

Reading it one more time, she walked quickly down the hall to the workroom to shred the post card and scatter the strips in several different wastebaskets.


End file.
